


Filet-O-Stan

by Anglephile



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Gen, MerMay, Mermen, crew of jerks, lady scientist, merman, scientist is manipulative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglephile/pseuds/Anglephile
Summary: Merman Stan and Ford are caught by a commercial fishing vessel, and are claimed by the ship's biologist for research. Can they bargain their way to freedom? Will they be sold to a zoo? Preserved in alcohol for future study?





	1. On board

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I was debating a job in the fishing industry, and one of the pros was "could meet a merman." That's a valid reason to move to Alaska, right?

Pain flares across Stan's shoulder down to his right hip as he tumbles onto the deck of the commercial fishing ship. His tail is trapped under an avalanche of flopping silver fish. The press of countless wiggling bodies pours over him, suffocating him, but that could also be the lack of water. He could breathe air, but not forever. And not when he's panicking. He shouts as the end of his fin is bent the wrong way, and that's when they notice him. Rubber coated hands, so many hands, grab his arms and drag him out of the pool of writhing bodies. They drop him on a clear patch of the deck. The frigid wind blows at his back, making him shiver. The open air is almost worse. Now he is alone, vulnerable...and surrounded. 

Figures in orange jumpsuits mutter and shift around him. Circling and swaying with the movement of the boat, they seem to be waiting for something. His hearts were racing. A finger of dread clawed down his heaving chest. It was getting harder to breathe. Shit, this was bad. What did they want from him? Were they waiting for him to suffocate? He flaps his tail in agitation, and slams his fists on the deck. Damned if he was going down without taking a few of them with him.

"C'mon, you landlocked idiots! Who wants a piece!" He shouted, wasting precious air on insulting the last beings he would ever see. 

A rumble of laughter erupts around him.

"Well, would you look at that? A merman offering to be chopped up. Yeah, I'll take a filet! Breaded and deep fried!" 

Mocking shouts, hungry leers, and more of that damned laughter attack Stan from all sides. His fists shake with anger, and, if he was honest with himself, fear. A few of the bolder ones kick at his tail, trying to make it move, and cheering when he flinched away before they made contact. The cold air caught in his throat. He coughs and reminds himself to concentrate on breathing air. His chest heaves alarmingly. It wasn't working.

"I believe this falls under my jurisdiction." A cold voice cuts through the jeering circle like coral through a soft underbelly.

The pack wavers, shuffling to open a hole for the newcomer. He can't tell the difference. It just looks like another orange jumpsuit to him, but the others step back, a few even sneaking away from group all together. Silence lingers in the air, the newcomer seems to relish in it, before Stan breaks it by succumbing to a coughing fit that makes his eyes water.

"Put him in one of the tanks in my lab. Now, meatheads! I want him alive!"

The rubber hands are back. Yanking him up by his arms, supporting his tail, grabbing his waist to still his thrashing. And, oh does he thrash. Amidst his raspy threats, Stan twists and fights for all he is worth. He catches one of them on the jaw before they bend his arm painfully behind his back. He finds the air to scream. No! If he goes inside this ship, he's never coming out. He can't let them-

Stan's eyes widen as he falls, the drop terrifying in it's finality. Water, sweet, sweet water, splashes out of the tank and he takes a deep breath in. And then another. His head is spinning, stars bursting in his vision. The jumpsuits file out of the room on the edge of his awareness, leaving him alone with the stern one. He watches darkly from under his brow as he gets his breath back. He didn't realize just how close he was to passing out. That could've ended badly. Still could. 

He didn't have much experience with humans, but he heard stories. He knew what they did in the name of curiosity. Creatures bled. Preserved. He swallowed thickly. Vivisected. The tools scattered over the desk in the corner gleamed with cold indifference, marred with spatters of dried bile from the previous occupants of his holding tank. Back turned to him, the jumpsuit is peeled off, and hung on a convenient hook. Even though he knew it wouldn't hurt him, it was dull and attached to the wall, hooks made him nervous. 

Motion nearby made his eyes flick to the figure, and his eyebrows flashed with shock. It was a woman. He gulped as she approached, and his heart jumped to his throat. Okay, so he never had direct contact with humans before. Never a woman, and definitely not this close. It was like she was dissecting him without touching him, lining up her cuts ahead of time. He could feel the slice of her knife in his skin, between his scales. Heat bloomed on his cheeks as she eyed him from head to tail, spending entirely too much time on his...lower regions. He crossed his arms self consciously. She smirked, and met his eyes with her steely gaze.

"Alright, ya had your fun. Now, let me out of this fish tank!" His voice was rougher than usual. Like his voice box was replaced with a bucket of rocks when he wasn't looking.

She tilted her head curiously.

"It's good to know you speak English. That will make this easier." She leaned back and crossed her arms, mirroring him. "Your anatomy fascinates me. What would it take for you to submit to an examination? What could I offer you?"

Fear returned to claw at his hearts, and he fought to keep it off his face.

"Not a damn thing. Let me out before I get angry!" 

He punctuated his threat by pointing at her and whipping his tail in the tank. Water sloshed out of the enclosure, but she didn't seem to mind. She was scrambling for her notebook, flipping to a blank page and scribbling furiously.

"Fascinating..." She muttered under her breath, glancing up when he paused in confusion and gestured at him. "Please, continue."

"Now, listen here, Toots-"

The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a sharp crack. A small group of orange jumpsuits stumbled in backwards. They struggled under the weight of whatever they were carrying, hauling it to the dry tank on the other side of the small room. He craned his neck, but couldn't make it out. The thing fell with a heavy thump. A jumpsuit muttered to the woman. He squinted at the tank, was that a large fish? He caught snippets of their conversation, too distracted to pay full attention.

"...another one...damn near jammed the rudder..."

What? No. No! Please, don't let it be him. A groan resounded from the tank followed by a fit of horse coughing. Cold dread washed over him. It was Ford. His brother had gotten himself caught, no doubt in an attempt to rescue Stan.

"Appreciate it, Captain."

"Happy to oblige. These things give me the creeps."

He clung to the edge of the tank in panic as the coughing continued. Ford was suffocating. There wasn't any water in the tank! He whipped his head around to face the woman. She had to help him. She had to! The woman ushered the jumpsuits out of the door with practiced expertise, closing it with a snap. Just as he was struggling to find the words, preparing to beg, he watched in amazement as he didn't have to. She darted to the tank, cursing darkly about the condition of the specimen, and wrapped her hand around the faucet. Then she glanced, up and saw the distress on his face, the panic. A shrewd expression crossed her features, and her grip on the faucet relaxed.

"What are-What are you doing? Help him!" He choked out desperately.

"Friend of yours?" She asks coolly, fingers drumming on the handle.

"I-He's my brother. Are you just going to let him die?!" 

"That's up to you, Fishie. Will you let me examine you?"

The coughing gets louder, broken by frantic gasping, and he knew she had him. His grip tightened on the edge of the tank. Stan was dead, but maybe he could get her to release Ford. Maybe. But first, Ford needed to breathe.

"Fine! Yes! Just save him already!" He spat, cursing himself.


	2. Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan submits to an examination, and Ford wakes up.

The woman smiles, and instantly cranks the water on full blast. It was hard to hear over the rush of water, but Ford's coughing died down, fading away in moments. She sauntered over to the desk, grabbed a handful of supplies, and leaned into Ford's tank. He couldn't see what she was doing. Was he okay? Why wasn't he saying anything? She muttered a lot to herself, something about glue not sticking to wet skin. A bloody rag hit the floor with a wet smack.

"Hey, what are you doing? Get away from him!"

"Helping him. There's a gash on his head, I'm just stopping the bleeding." She tossed over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. "He's knocked out, nothing serious...He's a real looker, isn't he?"

"We're...we're twins. Is he really gonna be alright?" Concern makes him lower his voice. Now that he's not fighting for his life, and Ford is safe for the moment, at least, he realizes how tired he is. He's not as young as he used to be.

"Yeah..." She hesitates, and fear grips his throat again. "...unless, your kind is more delicate than you look?"

"Excuse me, Toots, I'll have you know I could easily take three of your goons at once if I wasn't choking to death." He crosses his arms, and leans back into the corner, pride wounded.

She's scribbling in that notebook again. He clenches his jaw. Damn. He almost forgot. She would probably want him to come through on his end of the bargain immediately. It was an examination, so that meant she wasn't going to kill him, right? Just get up close and personal. That wasn't so bad. It's not like he's never been close to a woman, just not a human one. If she wanted to get a little handsy, well, he could deal with that. He closes his eyes, and takes a fortifying breath. It's okay. Ford was okay. If he played his cards right, maybe he could cut a deal. You got this, Stan. It's showtime.

"Not gonna examine me from all the way over there, are ya?" He shoots a cheeky grin, waggling his eyebrows when she looks up. "I won't bite. Unless you ask nicely."

"Thought you'd prefer to wait for your brother to wake up, see he's okay, but I'm always ready for science." His smile wavers as she walks over to the gore flecked tools, but she only grabs a tape measure. "Let's start with overall length."

This was torture. The muscles in his neck were tight to the point of pain, but he agreed to this. He wouldn't go back on his word, not with his brother's life on the line. So, he did his best to stay still as she recorded every length, width, and circumference she could think of. At least it wasn't painful. Cautiously, he let some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders. She struggled to reach around him, and his hand trembled somewhat when he took the end of the tape measure to hold it in place for her. She seemed surprised, but quietly thanked him. Probably wasn't used to specimens helping her study them. He couldn't help but suck in his stomach when she got to his waist. He may have puffed out his chest a little, too. If he was the first merman she encountered, he wanted to make a good impression. She just, well, she was potentially a monster, but she was definitely pretty. And less intimidating with the dusting of light pink on her cheeks that appeared when her hand accidentally brushed his lower back. He obediently held his arm out for her when requested, cheeky grin returning when she asked him somewhat nervously to flex his bicep.

"For science, right, Toots? It's not like ya have an ulterior motive, or anything."

"I-I just...I'm almost done, alright?" 

Was it his imagination, or was she actually flustered?

She unwrapped the tape measure, and took a couple of steps back, stumbling when she bumped into the edge of the desk. Heh, now he knew his charms worked on both species. Chewing on her lip, she finished writing down his measurements, and flipped to a new page, staring at it for a moment before looking up.

"There's just, uh, one more thing." Her nervousness made his heart rate spike. "Could I, well, would you let me draw you?"

"What do I have to do?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Just, pick a position, and don't move for a while. I'll work as fast as I can, but it might take a few minutes." 

Just sit here? That's all she wanted? Yeah, he could do that. Not that there were a lot of options open to him at the moment. He plastered that good old conman smile on his face, and nodded. 

"Sure, Toots. Anything you say." 

The hopeful look in her eyes brightened to delight, and she clambered up on her desk to get a better vantage point. He wasn't used to seeing humans move like that, climbing over obstacles, and folding their limbs to sit on them. It was oddly endearing. He quickly wiped the startled expression off his face. What was he supposed to be doing again? Right. He attempted to get comfortable in the tank, which was quite a feat. It took a couple tries, but he ended up on his side, arms crossed over the edge so he could rest his head. 

She didn't need any prompting. As soon as he settled, that piercing gaze was back, trailing over his body and turning his image to graphite. He missed the gentle woman who blushed when she touched him. The nervous one who bit her lip before asking him to do something remarkably small. The intensity of her focus was bringing back his earlier anxieties. What would happen when she was done with him? Would she preserve him in alcohol? Sell him to a zoo? Would she give him to the men who joked about eating him? He really hoped they were joking. 

He bit back a yawn. He really was running out of steam, here. If his situation wasn't so stressful, he probably would've drifted off. As it was, he wondered how she kept going so long. It was long past midnight, and he wouldn't be surprised to see light peeking out over the horizon soon. Maybe humans didn't need as much sleep. Or, maybe she just worked until she passed out, like someone else he knew.

She asked him to stay put, but, he could still talk, right? He cleared his throat, looking away uncomfortably.

"So, what happens when Ford wakes up?"

"Ford? Oh, your brother..." She trailed off, clearly putting more thought into her furious sketching than this conversation. A light flush colored her cheeks once again. "I was hoping he would let me examine him, as well..." 

He blanched. Of course, why would she let him go for no reason. He bit his lip before playing his last card.

"If I...If I stay here with you, would you let Ford go? I wouldn't fight, whatever you do, I promise, just--" He broke off before he embarrassed himself further. He closed his eyes, willing himself to get a grip. "...just don't hurt him. Please."

The lack of scratching pencil filled the room with heavy silence. He risked a glance up, and found her staring at him blankly. He made himself hold her gaze. This was the only thing he would ask for, the only request he would ever make, if she would just let Ford go he would give up everything.

"...Stan? Where--where are we?" A befuddled voice asks quietly. His eyes fall on the woman sitting on the desk, and he startles. He rubs the back of his neck, blushing slightly. "Oh! Ah, h-hello."

"Hello. How's your head?" The woman points, and he fumbles with the bandage on his head, noticing it for the first time.

"F-fine. A little sore, perhaps. But, that's my own fault...um-" His mellow baritone falters as he becomes more aware of his environment. The holding tanks, the dark splatters on the floor, the anatomical diagrams of dissected fish on the wall. He shares a worried glance with Stan as the woman reaches among an assortment of unfriendly looking tools. He shifts warily when she approaches his tank, looming over him. She leans down to his level, and cups her hand along his jaw to hold him steady.

"Um, what are-?"

"Wait! Leave him alone!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I'm going here. Is this going to be dark? Is it going to be sweet? Literally no clue. Open to opinions.


	3. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford gets a check up, and the scientist decides to accept Stan's deal. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little darker, now. Feel free to give them a hug after this. Poor dears.

She flashes a penlight in his eyes, ignoring the outburst behind her. His wide eyes blink quickly but he doesn't pull away. Her proximity makes a blush creep up his neck. His hands hovered in the air above his chest in apprehension, but not fear. Not yet. He was careful to keep calm, knowing that Stan was watching and if he saw the slightest sign of distress he was likely to do something stupid. Her hold on him is more gentle than he expected from a human, especially one in a commercial fishing vessel. She didn't look anything like the cleaver wielding hulk his imagination insisted he would find onboard. He swallows, throat suddenly dry, as her gaze slinks lower. Taking her time, her eyes wander down his body all the way down his tail presumably to look for more injuries. At least, that's what he thought until he noticed her lingering over his chest, and, um, other areas. She smiles, and let's go of his chin. 

"Just checking for a concussion. You look fine, but I've only recently been acquainted with merman anatomy. That is the correct term, right? Merman?"

Ford nods, shy from the contact.

"Your brother was kind enough to let me get familiar with his form." 

Ford whips his head to Stan, shocked that he would willingly let a stranger get that close. Stan turns red with shame and looks away, coughing into his fist.

"...Alright, I might've taken advantage of the situation a little, but I still appreciate it. Anyway..." She strolls to the door, and shouts a series of names, then returns to the tools on her desk. 

You could cut the tension with a knife, please let that not be what she's choosing next, but she is either oblivious or doesn't care, turning back to Ford with...is that a hole punch? Before he has time to wonder what's happening, three burly men burst through the door. She nods at him, and two grab his arms while one holds him down. Broad hands pin his stomach and hips to the bottom of the tank. He starts to panic, finding it difficult to breathe through the pressure, and twisting hard against the iron grip of his captors when she pinches his tail fin. He tries to buck them off, but they may as well have been made of stone. What was she going to--?

"Aaarghhh!" 

"Sixer!"

Searing pain crackles down from where she grabbed him. Was she cutting off his tail? Some sort of trophy, or delicacy he hadn't heard of? She releases him, and he smacks his tail down in the tank. In his hurry to escape the pain, he splashes the men holding him, and they don't look too happy about that. He pales. Oh, dear. What would they do to him now? Afraid of what he would find, but needing to know, he forces himself to look down. It feels worse than it looks. She gave him a piercing of some sort. Tendrils of red blur his view of the plastic tag now hanging off the side of his tail. It stings when he moves.

"Six...?" She stops in her tracks. His blood runs cold watching tumblers click together in her head. 

She whips around, and pulls at his hand. He fights instinctually, hand clenching into a fist. Stan shouts abuse from his tank, unable to reach them. One of the men gets impatient, and locks his wrist in a punishing grip, tightening his hold until the bones grind together. Ford gasps, splaying his hand open. Hoping for an instantaneous reaction, he submits completely. It hurt so much, please, please, let go. The broad hand relaxes a fraction, not nearly enough, and Ford's breathing becomes ragged. Tears prick at his eyes in shame, as she inspects his deformity. He wanted to curl up and hide. He never felt as exposed as he was now; forced to display himself for strangers.

"So, this is what regret feels like. Could've done wonders with a specimen like you." She locks eyes with Stan, considering, then drops his hand petulantly. She addresses the men. "Throw him overboard."

"I--What? Stanley, what's going on?"

"We made a deal before you woke up. He stays here, compliant, if I let you go. Deep breath, now."

The men hoist him out of the tank, and carry him towards the door, graciously held open by the scientist. He doesn't want to leave without Stan. He can't leave his brother here. He can't. Twisting in the strong arms that wrapped around him, he tries to see Stan one last time. He slips, and a man curses darkly in his ear, fingers now hard enough to bruise.

"Stan! Stan, is this true?"

"I'm sorry, Sixer. It's the only way."

Ford is silent, then starts thrashing as the men haul him away. Eyes squeezed shut, Stan listens to the heavy footsteps fade away, his name on the wind, and a heavy splash. That was it, then. 

He was alone.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him."

"I never said anything. Besides, it was for you. A tracker, so we can find him if I ever decide to let you go, or, more likely, if you don't stay completely submissive."

His shoulders tense at the reminder. How was he ever going to get through this? What if it never ended? What if he died here, at her hands, a broken plaything? What had he done to himself? He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, willing himself to calm down. He got what he wanted. Ford was safe. Ford was gone. A harsh sob escaped his chest. 

Ford was gone.

An arm snakes around his neck, too tight to be entirely friendly, and pulls him close. His breath catches in his throat when he feels soft lips at his temple. Her head leans against his, hair tickling his shoulder. Hot breath whispers in his ear.

"Don't make me change my mind."


	4. Catch!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made about merman physiology, and Stan's a bit of a show off about it.

"It's like each half of you decided to take a different path on the evolutionary tree without informing the other half. I wonder how that affects reproduction..."

She trails off, content to jot down theories and questions in her journal as she sits on top of her desk, legs braced on her chair and his tank to keep her balance with the rocking of the ship. The little room is filled with the sound of scratching, erasing, and muttered nonsensical jargon that Stan doesn't even try to understand. He leans against the corner, as far away as he can get, and plays with a piece of seaweed that he found floating in the bottom of the tank. He wishes she would just start already. Just do whatever she was going to do, because the worrying was killing him. Whatever she had done to Ford sounded painful, and she wasn't even trying. The seaweed shredded in his hands, his tail mimicking the color of the dark green leaf unconsciously. What if she tried? What if she decided to cut off parts of him to see how it would hinder his movement? What if she decided to jab him with wires and waves of electricity just to see how much he could take? Just for fun? His mind supplied the image of pinching electrodes, his body writhing, too taught to scream, as she cranked the dial to a higher setting. Her eyes eating him up as he tried to find enough air to beg. 

He doesn't notice the silence, too wrapped up his thoughts. The eyes that narrow suspiciously in his direction.

Idly, he changes the pattern of his tail to a striped, ripple effect. Like the kelp fields he used to hide in after stealing one of Ford's baubles. Like the shards of seaweed drifting from his hands, ripped apart by something more powerful, and discarded.

Something hits him in the chest, and he splashes ungracefully, fumbling to catch it. Wide eyes flick between the purple mug cradled in his hands and the thoughtful scientist unperturbed by his sudden distress. One leg dangled off of her desk, swishing like a tail, while the other was cocked on the edge of his tank providing a flat surface to balance her notebook. Um, what the hell?

"You want a refill, or something?"

"You didn't tell me you could change colors." 

She points down at his tail, and he's embarrassed to find it's the same color as the mug she threw at him. Ignoring his indignant "Hey!" she beckons for the mug, and he fights an urge to throw it at her face. Plucking it from his outstretched palm, she swaps it with a ornately patterned bandana before he can withdraw his hand. He arches an eyebrow, uncomprehending.

"Uh, thanks?"

"Can you do patterns? How much control do you have? Does complexity effect duration?" 

He blinks back, waiting for his brain to catch up with her stream of questions. Geez, she was intense when something piqued her interest. But, at least it didn't call for close contact with any of those blood encrusted tools. Shaking himself from dark thoughts about what she could do with those, what he would let her do, he stretched out his tail and pelvic fins. They were getting a little cramped from the lack of movement. He hoped he was up to this.

"Uh, I can try...I guess?" 

He opts for a demonstration. Ford was better at explaining than he was, but it was probably easier to show than tell, anyway. Taking a closer look at the cloth in his hand, he relaxed into the colors, letting his surroundings fade away. He got the shade of red okay, but the white curliques were giving him trouble. They just came out like sporadic squiggles. Frowning, he sunk deeper into the near meditative state. Slowing his breathing, he focused on allowing the lines to become clearer, link together, bend...It wasn't perfect, but the figures that bloomed across his tail were at least recognizable as the bandana he was given.

Holding onto the image in his mind, he offered a strained smile. He knew he could do it. Pride swelled in his chest as he took in the dazzled expression in her eyes. She must have the whole crew wrapped around her finger with eyes like that. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up, already feeling a familiar lightness in his head, but it was reassuring to be valued for his skill, not just a fluke of genetics. He couldn't help but showboat a little.

"...Heh...not bad for an old man, eh, Toots?" 

"You're old? I just figured mermen had gray hair." She mumbled, guiltily.

Stan pulled an affronted face. Don't get him wrong, it was nice that she didn't think he was elderly, but he wasn't always like this. He used to be quite the catch in his day. He opened his mouth to give her what for, and was hit with a wave of dizziness so strong he had to clutch the side of the tank. 

"What's wrong?" 

Her demeanor changed instantly; sharp and inquisitive. He really didn't want her poking him with those damn instruments, trying to find the problem.

"Uh...nothin'. Don't worry about me."

"You want to try looking me in the eyes this time?"

He wasn't? She waved to draw his attention, well, both of her waved. Uh oh. He lets go of the pattern a little too late. Head swimming, he collapses into the water with a heavy splash. He braces himself for the impact of his head on the glass, but it never comes. Something warm cradles his skull, letting him down gently. He relaxes against the bottom of the tank, panting in short bursts of tepid water through his gills. He squirms a little as the warmth slides over his hip and down his tail, tentatively lifting the end to the surface. Wait! That was a hand! What was she going to do?! He gasps, and shoots back up, spraying the room with seawater. She makes a face, wipes the droplets off her cheeks with a sigh. His hearts jumped to his throat at the sight of his tail in her hands. He couldn't pull away. He knew that. But--

"Just curious. Sheesh, you're jumpy." 

She withdrew her hand, letting his tail sink back with a delicate swoosh.

"Why don't we continue this after you've had something to eat. It's gotta be time for supper, no wait...breakfast? How many days have I been awake? Do mermen eat breakfast? Guess I'll find out..."

She trails off, out the door before he can respond. It's good to know she doesn't plan on starving him. What do humans eat, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Ford is up to...


	5. The First Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford runs into trouble, and Stan has his first encounter with the business end of a surgical knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some minor surgery here. It's worse in his head than in practice, but, well, heads up.

Ford leaned back against the side of the ship, trying to catch his breath. Why was the whole ocean after him all of the sudden? Ever since he was tagged by that scientist, bigger and bigger predators had chased him all over the floor of the Bering Sea. They always knew where he was hiding. It was as if they were being pulled here by some magnetic force. If it hadn't been his life on the line, he would've loved to study the phenomenon. He froze, matching his colors to the underbelly of the ship as a dark shadow passed underneath. 

That was...that was a lot of tentacles.

Admittedly, he had never been this far north, but surely there was more to blame than unfamiliar waters. It was possible he was mistaken, but he was fairly certain he had just been chased by a giant, straight shelled cephalopod in excess of eighteen feet. Which was ridiculous, because those had been extinct for hundreds of lifetimes. Hadn't they?

Melting back to his original coloring, he peeled away from the ship and drifted back aways to gaze upward. His brother was somewhere up there because of him. He thought he saw a rare specimen of amberjack slip into the nets, and was convinced he could sneak in and grab it before the nets were hauled in. As usual, Stan had pushed him out of the way, and darted after the specimen for him. Stan had always been the stronger swimmer, and there was no one he would trust more to get the job done, but this time strength hadn't been enough. The nets caught him; pulling him into the bowels of the ship before Ford could reach him. Frantic, Ford had tried to disable the ship, if he could distract them long enough, maybe he could find a way to cut the nets, but he swam too close to the propeller. The current sucked him off course, and for an adrenaline fueled second he thought he was going to be blended into chum. The force from the blades slammed him into the rudder, his head clanged against the steel plates, and everything went black.

What was she doing to him up there? Was there anything left to save?

No, he couldn't afford to think like that! Stan was tough. He was resilient. He was a survivor, but he wasn't alone. Ford wouldn't leave him. He would find a way to--

Something grabbed him.

Tight cords of muscle wrapped around his tail, and yanked him down. He shouted into the murky depths as he was dragged further from the ship. He realized his mistake as a heavy rope of slimy meat as thick as his arm cinched around his waist, constricting his torso. He couldn't expand his chest. He couldn't breathe. Twisting, he tried to see what had him, but the sea was too dark to make out his attacker, just an expanse of cloying shadows that spread out endlessly beneath him. More arms reached up out of the darkness, sliding around his arms, his chest, surrounding him in a nest of writhing limbs. The abyss come to claim him. 

He clawed at the tentacles, desperate. It couldn't end like this. Fear clouded his mind, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, as he sunk further and further away from Stan.

\---

Stan choked on his scrambled eggs, and it had nothing to do with the weird texture. Shoveling in the mushy, pale lumps like she had forgotten to eat for a few days, she made a request between bites that turned his blood to ice.

She wants a skin sample. That's what she said. 

She wants to carve him up. That's what he heard.

Numbly, he let her take his unfinished plate from his hands. Shrugging, she set it on the desk with her spotless one. That would no doubt make it into a log about his eating habits. He wondered what she would try to feed him next, trying to distract himself from the set of surgical implements being laid out within easy reach of his tail. There was no mistaking this time. She was going to cut him.

She held the end of his tail aloft just above the waterline. His hands clenched the edge of the tank so hard it hurt, but not as much as he was going to be hurting soon. Chest heaving, he trembled with the effort of keeping his body still. Her thumb brushed down his scales in an absentminded caress as she searched for a good spot. He suppressed a shudder. The knife glinted in the electric light, lurching violently in midair as the ship took a sudden dip. Mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes were glued to her hand as she guided the thin blade down to his scales, stopping just before breaking the skin. He glanced up to find her eyes boring into his with cold curiosity.

"You really aren't going to stop me..."

"Just...just do it already." He choked out.

Changing her mind, she swapped the knife for a long, thin needle. The color drained from his face. Drugs. Would he feel it searing through his veins like magma? Or would it knock him out, so he would never really know what she did to him? He jerked as the needle pierced the soft spot between his scales. She pressed her thumb over the wound, rubbing in small circles. 

Something was wrong.

"I-I can't feel my tail!"

"Good. Then you won't feel this--"

The knife slid between his scales and punctured his skin in one smooth movement. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. She was right. He wasn't sure if he was happy about that, or not. It was...unsettling. There wasn't any pain, but it was like watching someone prepare a chunk of fish for supper; a chunk that was attached to him. Dark red seeped into the water, and he had to turn away. He couldn't watch this. A slick, meaty sound made his stomach turn. She was mutilating him, and he was just sitting there, letting her do it. Deep under his revulsion and horror, ran a vein of prideful anger. How could she think this was okay? How could she do this to him? 

He wilted. 

How could he do this to himself?

"Aaaannd, I'm done!"

Swallowing hard, he forced his gaze down to see the gaping hole, scales streaked with gore. His brow creased with confusion. He reached a shaking hand out to touch his tail. That can't be right. A bandage no bigger than his finger was neatly secured to his tail, no mess to speak of. Speechless, he followed her with his eyes as she put away her tools, and stored the skin sample, held outside of his view almost like she knew it freaked him out. 

What was she playing at? Why would she make this easy on him, unless...she was just warming up?


	6. Breakfast, Take Two!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford escapes near death with a neat trick. Stan experiences the effects of painkillers, and tries to cheer up his captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings for drug use* tags changed accordingly.

The world was fading. He couldn't tell if the tendrils of darkness coalescing above him were real, or the effect of lack of oxygen to his brain. Everything moved in slow motion, but there was nothing he could do to stop those winding arms from choking, pulling, dragging him down. The last dregs of filtered sunlight were blacked out, and he knew this was the end. Any second a beak of polished bone would crack through his spine, tear him up.

No! This can't--he can't end this way! He can't! He wouldn't!

Clamping down the flair of panic in his brain, he let go. He floated in the abyss, and relaxed, letting the arms claim him. Allowing his mind to clear, he summoned the will for one last act. 

He lit up. 

Pouring all his energy into his colors, his veins flowed with every shade of every color he could imagine. Power crackled, he swore he saw energy arc across his pelvic fins like lightning, and he let out a kaliedoscopic burst that even blinded his own eyes. The creature screamed, a high pitched glass on glass vibration that had him clamp his hands over his ears. The darkness cleared, tentacles receding so fast he was tossed around by the force of the ocean current as it swirled to fill the space. 

Dizzy and battered, he didn't waste any time in swimming towards the light. It didn't matter where he was going, just up, away. He had never swam so fast in his entire life. His chest hurt with the deep, gulping breaths he maintained to keep his pace. He broke the surface with a desperate gasp. Frantic, he whipped around until he spied a small outcropping of rock. Pushing himself just a few more strokes, he collapsed his upper body on top of the jagged stone. 

Why were these giant, apparently not as extinct as he previously thought, creatures suddenly active? And so aggressive? It was uncharacteristic of cephalopods to begin interactions with violent behavior, preferring to investigate before making a choice regarding intensity of action. And why did they seem to take exception to him specifically? He was sure he wasn't a part of their natural diet. 

He knew he could figure this out. He just needed a minute to rest.

"Well, what do we have here?"

\---

"Okay, so you don't like eggs. How about muffins?"

She brandished a small plate in front of him, shoving it towards his chest when he didn't take it right away. Geez, alright already. He wasn't really hungry, stomach still clenching from that incident with the knife, but she was oddly insistent. He frowned, giving the soft lump in front of him a tentative sniff. What was this supposed to be? It smelled sweet, really sweet. And fruity. And nothing like what he normally ate. He snuck a glance up, and, yep, she was watching close; expectant. Curling his tail in uncertainty, he figured he better at least try the food she put in front of him. The cake nearly dissolved on his tongue it was so delicate. Dark berries burst with a richness and fragrance that balanced out the honey gold cake. Damn, that was pretty good.

"So, I guess you have a sweet tooth."

"I've eaten worse." 

He tries to come off noncommittal and unimpressed, but the rate at which the muffin disappears speaks volumes. Smug, she turns to let him finish eating in peace, and futzes with a row of bottles on her desk, muttering to herself. When she turns back to him, he cranes his neck in curiosity. Maybe she had something else for him to try? He could stand to experiment a little, especially if she had food this good hidden away somewhere. She hands him a mug of water, and uncaps a bottle of pills. Snapping one in half, she holds it out to him, hesitating over his open palm.

"Don't chew it. Swallow it whole."

"...Sure, no problem."

She drops the pill in his hand, keeping intense eye contact as he follows her instructions with some trepidation. Nodding to herself, she takes back the mug. What was that about? Was she just trying to see what she could get him to eat? Or, wait. His face fell. Oh, no. He'd heard about this. His hand drifts unconsciously towards his throat. Some drugs were solid pellets. Shit. What did she give him? She notices the emotions play out on his face, and holds her hands up in the classic "no harm" gesture.

"Painkiller. The feeling will come back to your...uh, tail soon, and I couldn't give you something for it until you had food in your stomach. It's kind of strong."

Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better. 

She settles at her desk to work, shooting him an occasional curious glance as she rolls her pencil across her knuckles in an anxious gesture. Was she waiting for something? Or, no. It was like when Sixer couldn't make an equation balance out. She was frustrated with something. Setting her face in a determined frown, she grips her pencil, and sets the tip to the paper, jerking away with a stifled curse when her hand brushes the page. Was she injured? Rubbing her wrist with her opposite hand, careful to keep the sleeve pulled down, her gaze darts up to see if he noticed. He coughs into his fist, and looks away.

"Ya know, this is probably the farthest me and Ford have been apart since, well, ever." Not the smoothest deflection, but he didn't have a lot to choose from. "You, uh ever been apart from your family?"

She arches an eyebrow, puzzled at his subject choice, but obliges nonetheless.

"Let's see...I am three oceans, and two countries away from the only person I consider family. I think it's been somewhere around five years, or so, since I last saw her?"

He's silent. Sure he's heard her wrong. 

"What? I'm a land animal in the middle of the ocean. How close did you think I was to them? Or wanted to be?" Her arms cross defensively.

Geez, kid. That was...sad, actually. His shoulders fell down from around his ears, their nearly permanent position since arriving. He couldn't, refused to, imagine life without his brother, and for her to so casually dismiss her own family, well, it made him concerned for her. Is that why she became...this? A fuzzy warmth settled across his back, and bled into his shoulder blades. He knew he shouldn't feel bad for the woman who held him captive, but he found himself with a growing desire to make her feel better. He was certainly feeling better. Just, good, ya know? He bet he could get her to come around in no time.

"Well, it's their loss, Toots." He plasters on his most charming smile, and leans a little too heavily on the edge of the tank. "I happen to think you're a real looker. Even with those raccoon eyes you're sporting."

She blinks a few times, then smiles thinly.

"I'm going to let that go, because I think that's the pain killer talking."

"What? I'm not allowed to notice a beautiful woman in distress just because I'm not hurting anymore? In fact, I feel great! Like nothin' ever happened! So, why don't ya come on over here, and tell ol' Stan what's keeping you up at night?"

Her eyes narrow, and she wavers. Tempted, but surprisingly skittish when it came to anything that required touch. Man, she was prickly. He felt relaxed for the first time in days, and he just wanted her to feel as good as he did. He beckons her with open arms, gesturing to his broad chest.

"C'mon, and snuggle up, already. I got more than enough room for a delicate thing like you, even with that chip on your shoulder."

"...'m not delicate." She mutters to the hands in her lap. 

He pretends not to hear, just watches her protests crumble apart in her head before they made it to her mouth. He could afford to let her take her time. It was the one thing he had in abundance these days. 

She wilts under the force of her own arguments, collapsing in on herself with a pained sigh. She sidles over, giving him one last uncertain look before perching on the side of the tank next to him. Tugging the sleeve of her sweater over her palm, she stares determinedly down at her hands. His arm snakes around her waist, and her eyes widen when he pulls her close. Teetering on the edge, her hands land on his shoulders to keep her balance. Her cheeks flush red, and she tries to lean away. He shakes his head, tightening his grip. 

"Sorry, Toots. You're stuck here until ya open up. S'not good to bottle up yer feelings. Ford told me that."

"I-I'm not! I just..." she stutters for a moment before giving up. "I think we might be...under attack, or something. It sounds stupid, I know that, but I can't explain what's happening. The crew keeps pulling up these giant...cnidaria creatures. They smacked into the side of the ship after we released your brother like they were after us, or we were in the way, or something. They shouldn't be alive. Nothing has existed like that for at least three mass extinctions. It doesn't...It doesn't make sense..."

The palm of her hand grinds into her eye socket as if she could cram understanding in her mind by brute force. Stan rubs his thumb over her hip, not really listening, and definitely not understanding her distress. Wow, she really had a lot going up there. Didn't scientists like problems? Maybe he could distract her for a bit. Give her something new to think about. That always worked with Ford.

"Hey, wanna see a trick?"

He waggles his eyebrows playfully when he catches her eye. 

"Here. Watch this."

He adjusts so his tail is on full display, shifting so she is flush against his side. To give her a better view, of course. He wiggles his fingers, and, with great showmanship, reaches down to lightly touch his pelvic fin, waits a beat, and swipes his hand across his tail. Following his touch with a slight lag are five gentle trails of blue light that bloom in a subtle glow before fading back down to his normal coloring. He feels a heavy weight on his shoulders, and his grin turns smug as he watches her lean down to get a closer look. 

"That's..."

"If ya wanted to give it a shot, I wouldn't stop you. I already promised to let ya do whatever you wanted." 

She turns to him in awe, and he heat rises up on his cheeks. She was so close, her face a breath away from his, and everything just felt so warm and easy and... His hearts fluttered as she reached a hand down towards his hip. He gulped. Okay. Here we go. She was gentle, her hand hot against his scales. Lightly, so light all he felt was warmth and softness, she trails her hand over his hip bone and down his pelvic fin. A delicate stroke that sent shivers of light arcing through his scales. Her fingers drifted carelessly across his front, and, it had been such a long time. He nuzzles into her neck. He feels so content, and relaxed, and there was a beautiful woman in his arms. He hums appreciatively in her ear, a rumble from deep inside his chest, and brushes her hair back over her shoulder. She had nice shoulders--

Abruptly, the hand was removed. 

His face falls as she untangles herself from his embrace, and returns to her seat across the room. Oh. Well, that was fine, too. He was just trying to cheer her up, anyway. It's not like he was enjoying her company. Nah. His gaze slinks over to her turned back. At least she was working again. If she was anything like Ford, that meant she was happy. Yeah, she was happy. He let his head fall back, hitting the edge of the tank with a clunk. Geez, what did she give him?


	7. Splish Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford runs into some dangerously bored campers, Stan messes up big time, and the scientist is starting to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: the experiments mentioned in the journal were real experiments carried out with the express purpose of determining to what degree, if any, marine life could feel pain.

"If it can breathe water, I bet it can breathe beer!"

"No, don't! Ple--aghhk!"

Ford gasped in pain as a hiking boot ground down on his tailfin. His mouth fell open, and, to his horror, he felt something cool and burning splash down his throat. He choked instantly as bubbles stung his airways, cringing at the laughter floating above him. Sputtering and coughing under the relentless stream of foaming liquid, he tried to lunge for the safety of the ocean. He needed water. Immediately. He never could breathe air as well as Stan, never really bothered to try until now. Something hard collided with his chest, kicking him away from the sea with a taunting remonstration.

"Ah ah ah, don't spoil our fun, now."

Hard rubber ground into his pectoral as a heavy boot pinned him in place.

"How long do you think he can last, guys? I'm betting five minutes."

"Nah, gotta be less than two?"

"Are you nuts? What about that chicken that lived for days with it's head cut off? This has got to be easier than that! I'm sayin' til morning, at least."

Frantic, he clawed at the weight, tail throwing gravel in the air as he thrashed, but it was no good. He was already too far gone. Oh, God. He was going to die here. They wanted to watch him die. Panic gripped him by the throat like a rapid dog. The man sneered as Ford bucked, cheers and whoops egging him on as he pressed down on Ford's chest with increasing conviction. His clumsy fingers were too weak to pry the man away. He was failing. Tears pricked at the corner of his vision. As he lay there choking, his gaze fell to the sea. It was so close. The churning waters becoming darker in his vision, almost rising...

\---

The octopus arms were pinned down and the effort expended to escape said confinement was measured in an effort to determine the capacity for pain...

The zebra fish were injected with a chemical thought to induce pain, and given a choice of two environments: one ideal, and one undesirable but laced with painkillers...

His hand trembled as he turned the page. Some hours ago, the scientist had stumbled off, presumably to sleep, after her head hit the desk for the third time while trying to organize her notes. When Stan realized she wasn't coming back, he tossed and turned for a while before boredom and curiosity got the better of him. Her notebook was just within reach sitting on the corner of her desk. It's not like she expressly said he couldn't touch her stuff. And, what was the harm in a little light snooping? It was probably just filled with boring numbers and, like, how many seagulls flew overhead in an hour, or something. Just the thing to put him to sleep. As long as he didn't get it wet, she would never know.

But, after what he found inside, he might never sleep again. Page after page of cruel experiments designed to inflict pain with a range of creativity that he didn't know was possible. He couldn't tear himself away. What was she trying to find? How was no one stopping her? His eyes went wide at the diagrams, meticulously drawn by hand, depicting the nervous system of the Giant Pacific Octopus. It was so detailed he felt uncomfortable even touching the page.

Engrossed as he was, he failed to notice the footsteps echoing down the hall. The door clicked open, and he jumped hard, book flying out of his hands. No, no, no, shit! He fumbled ungracefully to catch the notebook, his stomach dropping to the bottom of the sea when he missed. He froze in horror as it landed with a splash, and bobbed to the surface, a floating death warrant. His eyes flicked up to find the scientist paused in the doorway, a befuddled frown clouding her features. He stuttered, trying to find something to say, to defend himself, but before he could get the words out she muttered darkly to herself, and backed out, closing the door behind her.

Oh, fuck. He had done it, now.

Beating himself up with imagined punishments fueled by true accounts of her cruelty, he flinched hard when she returned, this time with her purple mug. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled the hazelnut scented steam with a sleepy smile. She was more concerned about the contents of her coffee cup than him, apparently. Then she looked up, noticing his deer in the headlights expression for the first time. How was he going to fix this? He clenches the journal tight in his hands, cringing at the creak of the leather. Swallowing hard, he straightens his posture, and holds out the sopping wet journal. 

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I-I didn't mean to, I swear! It's not what it looks like--"

"That's good. Cause it looks like my research is ruined."

She takes a long, slow sip of coffee to fill the heavy silence. He waits for her to react, really react, hearts beating double time. He can't take the silence.

"Please, don't go after Ford. I'm the screw up. Just take it out on me, okay?" Stan chokes out the words. He needs her to stay focused on him. Needs to remind her why she should. "You're studying pain, right? Use me. I can take more than some dumb fish. Just try me." His voice warbles at the end, but he puffs out his chest, challenging her and debasing himself in one move. He prays she accepts.

Sighing, she collapses into her chair, convenient shape of her skeleton the only thing keeping her upright. One more hit from her mug, and she sets it down with a clunk. He twitches when she grabs the surgical tools, but she only stacks them to the side to make room for her soaked journal.

"...You really have no idea why you're so valuable, do you?" She speaks to him, but her head hangs over her journal, propped up by an elbow on the table. "We have no idea what we're doing to the marine life. None at all. Are they happy? Are they hurting? Do they have any idea that we're here at all?" 

She shrugs with the minimum of movement. 

"But you, you're different. I can literally just ask. And you can tell me! Do you have any idea how refreshing that is?"

Her arm reaches out to grab a handful of paper towels, and the sleeve of her sweater slides up, exposing a trail of violent purple lacerations. She notices him staring, and tugs the sleeve back down, dabbing at the pages of the journal with shaking hands.

"I mean, you could refuse to talk to me, that's true. I wouldn't exactly be thrilled with that, but it's an option. I don't have to shock you to find out if you feel pain, dissect you to see if you have a nervous system." She's rambling, like she's trying to distract him from the tired circles around her eyes, the odd sucker-like marks across her collarbone. "I mean, I will if you want. Didn't think you were into that sort of thing."

"You alright, kid?" he asks in a quiet voice.

"No. No, I'm definitely not." She laughs in a hysterical, bubbling giggle. "But, hey, we've got bigger fish to fry! Now, tell me: reproduction. How does it work for your species? From your behavior last night, I'm assuming it's not asexual."

"I-I don't..."

"Aw, c'mon, Hotstuff. Or, should I find out for myself?"

"...Woah! Hey, stop--!"


	8. The Light Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery is made regarding ancient cnidarian creatures and Ford makes a decision.

Screams. There was screaming all around him. His hands fell to the side, useless. Numb. He was dimly aware of a thick, meaty sound and someone choking. Him? No, not him. A hollow snap-crack-crack as bones were molded to a more convenient shape. Abruptly the pressure was released from his sternum, and for a half second he just lay there. Then a wave of heavy ocean water pounded over his chest, and his lungs remembered how to breathe. His eyes flashed wide with sudden comprehension, and he rolled to the side as a rush of air brushed past his head. A thump and a spray of gravel pelting his shoulder blades signified the near miss of a tentacle, one of which was writhing in the intertidal zone with blind hunger a few feet away.

Why was it still following him? And onto land, no less? Unless, it was more than one?

The tightness in his chest, along with the arrival of too many tendrils of winding flesh, heralded the necessity for a quick escape. To his shame, he turned a blind eye to the red liquid trickling through the rocks of the intertidal zone and chose to focus on his own survival. Bile rising in his throat at the thick, meaty sounds of what had been his tormentors in the near background, Ford pushed off the jagged landscape and plunged into the slate gray waters. Churning and punishingly cold the water rushed into his ears and mercifully drowned out the sharp moans echoing over the waves. 

Darting behind a large outcropping of black rock, he drew a shaking hand over his face. Dear God, he thought he understood the need of predators to consume other lifeforms, but experiencing the savagery up close was...was...nausea gripped him tight, and he curled his fingers into a fist. The pain of six nails in his flesh grounding him in the reality of the situation. 

He was not in any current danger.

He had not incurred any permanent physical damage.

And, most important, he had to find Stanley.

He didn't know what was drawing these creatures to him, but he was free to fight or escape at will. Stan was trapped in a floating metal tube with no options or protection other than the mercurial will of a human scientist. If the monsters decided to go after Stan, there would be nothing he could do.

He would find his brother. And he would save him.

\---

She hisses a curse as his hand grabs her wrist, landing right on the torn flesh. Livid, she yanks her hand away. Light reflects off the walls in a colorful flurry of disparate lightning, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's coming from him. His hearts are beating a mile a minute, like he was some cornered animal. He really didn't expect her to just grab for him like that. She's staring at him, at his tail, with a mix of anger and fascination that makes his mouth go dry. 

"Bio-luminescence powered by latent electrical pulses...Damnit, this changes everything."

The wonder falls from her face, and her expression hardens into something cold and dangerous. She stalks out of the room without a word.

"No. No, wait!"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn't have hurt her, but she startled him. He just wasn't used to people trying to feel him up without warning. If she came back, he could make it up to her. He would...he would let her do whatever she wanted. He would even participate, if it would keep her from Ford. His face flushed just thinking about it. Her hands hot on his skin; his blood surging to his core as his body writhed to her touch. Harder. Faster. More. Would she expect him to reciprocate? Not that he hadn't thought about it, but not like this. If they had met on neutral ground, sure, maybe, he'd be willing to see where it went, but with both his and Ford's life on the line there was no way he could enjoy this. What did she expect? What if he did it wrong? Would she punish him? Drug him again? Leave his body limp, but aware; unable to do more than beg like the captive he is? Or would she melt his will from the inside out, leaving him a hot, panting mess as she got what she wanted with minimal effort? Dread sunk deep in his stomach, and he pinched his eyes closed against the onslaught of his imagination. No, he could do this. If she wanted his body, she could have it.

What if it was already too late?

"Just push it overboard! Use the crane if you have to! I'm not going near that thing again!"

Stan flinched as she slammed the door behind her, and clomped to the desk, sitting down in front of the soggy notebook. Flipping to a blank page, she wrote furiously. He stares at her hands; hands that would roam over his chest, his hips, cataloging his every gasp and moan with eyes as invasive as her burning touch. He swallows, more than a little uncertain. He needed to get her attention, but damned if he could get his mouth to work. 

The world leaned for a moment as the ship changed course. 

"We're going after your brother." She utters at the notebook.

The blood drains from his face.

"No. No, you can't! We had a deal...I..." he trails off as desperation clouds his mind with too many words scrambling for priority. Every phrase cancelling each other out leaving him with blind, white denial.

She didn't even look up.

"What do you want from me?! Just tell me! Please, I'll do anything! I'm sorry I fought back! You-you can touch me, if that's what you want, or I can...demonstrate--"

She cuts him off, holding a hand in the air. A look of frustrated guilt on her face as she looks anywhere but in his direction. The delicate hand staving off his torrent of desperation curls inward as connections fire in her head. He stops immediately, chest heaving with panic as embarrassment flushes his skin deep red. Was that the right thing to say? Was he totally off the mark here? Or, did she actually want to watch him while he...? Suddenly, her head snaps up with wild clarity. Whatever she says next, he's not going to like it.

"Demonstrate." 

She says the word like it is the key to a riddle; like it makes perfect sense to ask him to...to...his stomach sinks. He feels sick. He isn't sure he can do this. His hand trembles as it slides down his hip. His gaze falls to his pelvic fins floating limp in the tepid water. He can't bring himself to look at her while he does this. Can't bear to see those sharp eyes boring into his body, analyzing his movements as he fights desperately with himself to finish what he started, and to stop, just stop. He really didn't want to do this, but what choice did he have? Maybe he can pretend he's somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

Oh, God, what if she changed her mind? What if she did more than watch from the sidelines? Christ, what if she--

"Just, here." She tosses a plastic tag at him, and he catches it against his chest. Wide eyes dart up to meet hers. She could have knocked him over with a feather. "Can you light up on purpose, or do you need to be...stimulated?"

His hand tightens around the tag until the plastic cuts into his palm. He swallows around his fear. He could glow a bit if he focused, but he was pretty sure she wanted more. Luckily, he could really only do it when he was freaked out, which wasn't going to be a problem as he was still afraid she was going to lunge for him again without warning. His eyes flick to hers once more, just checking, but she stays rooted in her seat content to watch him with that damned piercing intensity. He shivers, and tendrils of light crawl outwards from his pelvic fins; link and arc, spreading across his tail in a net of internal electricity. 

A high pitched tone lances through his eardrums. He winces, cursing, and drops the tag in favor of covering his ears. A deep, spluttering groan rumbles outside the door. His shoulders fall in confusion as she leans back smugly, if a little annoyed. He swallows, throat suddenly dry.

"What...what was that?"

"The discovery of the century, and the reason we're closing in on your brother."

As he's trying to comprehend what a groaning sea monster has to do with his brother, she stands up and plunges her hand into the tank. He chokes and forces himself to remain still. He wouldn't deny her again. It was too risky. Sparks reflect off the water in waves. His kaleidoscopic reflex dies down when she only plucks the tag from the bottom of his tank. An angry grumble vibrates through the ship, and he whips his head to the face the door.

"Fuck. Off!" She enunciates at the rumbling monster behind the door, shaking the water off her arm in annoyance.

Stan guiltily slides back down to his regular position feeling more than a little awkward. Geez, he had almost, uh, and she didn't even want that. He didn't think so. It's not he could just ask her! He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. Did she still want him to...? He opened his mouth to ask, and closed it almost immediately. If he didn't bring it up, would she let him off the hook? But he would still have to make up for destroying her journal, and she did ask him about reproduction. 

Wait, was she writing in it again? 

"Um...I thought I ruined that." He offers in a quiet voice, not wanting to upset her if for some reason she was okay with writing on soggy pulp.

"Hm? Nah. It's 'write-in-the-rain' paper. It's had worse than water on it, believe you me." She waggles her eyebrows in a way that makes his stomach twist. "Anyway, how'd you feel about being bait?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will feature a darker version of our favorite hillbilly.


	9. Assisted Swan Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scientist calls in an old friend to help fix the problem of the tags attracting elder beasts.

The door snaps open as a jittery man in a lab coat lets himself in.

"Well, look who finally checked his email."

"Imagine my surprise ta find ya had stumbled into the twenty first century. Thought fer sure I had inadvertently ingested formalin again."

"Right. Inadvertently." The corner of her mouth twitches at his affronted expression, but she changes the subject before he has a chance to retaliate. "Remember when you implanted mammalian pain receptors into the nervous system of a Steelhead salmon to prove that fish feel pain?"

"An' you accused me a cheatin' to get my way, yes."

"It was cheating. You can't just change biological facts to win an argument--Nevermind. That's not what I wanted to talk about...maybe later. You didn't create anything larger than a salmon, did you?"

Stan tuned out when they started sniping at each other. Turns out baiting a scientist was as simple as posing for a mugshot and firing off an inciting comment or two about an old invention. And here Stan thought nerds were supposed to be the shy, quiet types; guess it was just Ford, then. The other scientist, "Fids" she called him, rolled his eyes in contempt at some jargon heavy rebuttal and his gaze falls on Stan. Oh, boy. Here it comes. His skin prickles as the new scientist sidesteps around his college and makes his way to the foot of Stan's enclosure. The man that looms over him has a lean strength opposite Stan's own bulky figure. Honey wheat hair and a gentle face mask a flash of malice so well that Stan questions whether he actually saw it. He peers at Stan over the top of thick glasses, and his hands twitch as if he's actively forcing himself to appear nonchalant. The man doesn't blink. Stan's eyes flick to her for direction, but only sees her dark satisfaction at finally having the envy of her...not friend, adversary-with-collegiate-benefits was more like it.

"Somethin' I can do for you, pal?" 

"You can touch him. He won't fight." 

She takes the bite out of his words, adding a sharpness to her smile over Fid's shoulder just for him. A reminder that makes his shoulders sink in defeat, and his eyes fall to the floor. Right. He wouldn't forget his place. Couldn't if he tried.

"I know better than to ask just how that came about." 

Stan fights the urge to shy away, if only to save his pride from the indignity of finding his back against the wall. The wiry man runs a hand over Stan's hair, and at first Stan thinks he's petting him until he hears him muttering about the "lack of dorsal spines" and no "opercular ridge." Long fingers dance over his cheekbones and corner of his eyes, a gesture that makes Stan redden unconsciously. He didn't know enough about the man to guess what he might be after, so he does his best to remain pliant, ever aware of the risk to Ford's safety if he does not. Stan grunts in surprise as the newcomer pushes his jaw up, tilts his head roughly to the side, and traces his fingers down Stan's throat before finally addressing him. 

"Now, where exactly are your gills? I'm itching to find out how many spines are on your first gill arch, and I'm having a might of trouble, here." 

"My...my sides. Just under my ribs. Woah!" 

"Alright. Enough. That's not why I asked you here." She bats his hands away, shifting her body between Fids and the tank with a possessive stance that Stan is quietly grateful for. He crosses his arms to hide the shakiness of his hands and slides as far away as he can get from the man. He does not like being handled like that; like something dragged out of a net. Like a specimen. "I need you to fix those streamer tags you made with, you know, my grant money."

"I ain't sure what yer insinuating, but those tags were functioning perfectly before I left 'em in your tender care."

"I'm telling you, they are not." She spits out through gritted teeth. "Unless you designed them to amplify electrical impulses and draw damned prehistoric krakens to my door!"

"Ya mean the tags designed specifically for use in fresh water ecosystems? The ones ya insisted would work the same no matter where you shoved 'em? I seem to recall advising against that particular use, amongst others. Can't say I'm not intrigued by yer little sea monsters, though. Let me guess, you called me because Capt. Nemo is on vacation? Or, have ya been hitting the 'shine a little too hard?"

She seethes, eyes narrowed as her hands clench and unclench at her sides. Fiddleford smirks, kind eyes twisted into a mocking leer. He tilts his head to look over her shoulder, lingering on Stan contemplatively before he straightens. Rearranging his features to resemble sheepish remorse, he takes a deep breath.

"Ya know what, why don't we settle this over some fresh brewed sweet tea, like Ma used to make. She always said there was nothing that couldn't be solved over a pot of tea."

She takes a breath, and stores her irritation neatly to one side with visible effort. Shoulders lower than they were a moment ago, she nods. "Yeah, you're right about that much, at least." 

He steers her out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. As their steps fade, Stan runs a hand through his hair. Sheesh, maybe that's for the best. It was clear they had some issues to work out, and if they couldn't, well, Stan wouldn't exactly be upset if the first time he met Fids happened to be the last. A metallic scuffle catches Stan's ear. He sits up a little taller, straining to hear through the door. What's it now? They get into a slap fight this time? A muffled curse. A quiet grunt of exertion. A splash. His hand freezes on the back of his neck. His face falls as he tries to find another explanation for what he just heard. The door gently swings open, and, to his dismay, Fids saunters through tossing a playful wink in his direction.

"Now that that's settled, what's say I take you apart and see what makes you tick? I sure would like to know how you became so cold tolerant. I tell ya, that water you been swimming in looked mighty cold, and some day someone'll shove me over board. I'd love ta know yer secret."

Stan's eyes dart between the man fiddling with row of chemicals on the desk and the door, half expecting the scientist to burst in with a volley of fresh insults. The click of the deadbolt sliding into place makes his throat constrict.

"I--What? Not gonna happen, pal."

"I don't really see how you have much of a choice, given yer current predicament." Fids upends a brown bottle of clear liquid into Stan's tank, and watches Stan expectantly.

"No, wait! Don't! I...ngh..." The world spins, and he clutches at the sides of the tank as he slinks down into the tepid water, suddenly having trouble keeping himself upright.

"Just a little something to keep you calm while I gather a bit of data. Nothing to worry about. But then again..." He sinks into thought, the edges of his form blurring into dark mist as Stan blinks heavily. "This would be a fine opportunity to test my hypothesis that bones are detrimental to aquatic locomotion. How'd you feel about becoming the first man made marine invertebrate?"

The ceiling swirls above him as he suddenly finds himself floating on his back. He tries to snap at the lanky scientist, but his tongue is dead in his mouth. Struggling against the drugs forced into his body, he settles for a plain old left hook that comes out as a limp flop easily batted away by the man fading in and out of focus over his tank. Long fingers peruse his torso, tracing the pattern of his ribs as Stan squirms weakly. Stan can almost feel the maniacal grin on the scientist's face. Hot fingers drum over his solar plexus in a careless display of dominance before jabbing into the vulnerable slit of his gills. Stan's eyes widen as the man gropes the delicate flesh inside him. He convulses involuntarily as he begins to choke. 

"Now stop that! Ya made me loose count!"

The hand presses deeper, and Stan's eyes begin to water. He couldn't breathe. He had never felt so violated. So scared. The man's fingers sweep across the sensitive tissue at a punishingly slow pace. His ribs ache where he is pried open. Each caress over his gills makes him want to gag, but the drugs won't even allow him that. Hot tears escape the corner of his eyes, and he prays for the moment to end. This wasn't right! It wasn't right! Spots clouded his vision in bursts of menacing shadow. He didn't want to die like this!

"47!" The man chirps with glee.

The appendages are ripped away, and water floods his twitching gill slits, red with abuse. A wave of shame crawls through him at his grateful relief. The man grins above him, chattering away more to himself than to Stan. It hurts to breathe. What if he couldn't move his lungs? The drugs were gradually paralyzing every part of him. How would he let the man know if he couldn't breathe? What if they froze his heart? A sudden flourish makes Stan cringe, and if he could move, he would be shaking. The blur of a man grows large in Stan's line of sight as the scientist leans in. A glint of surgical steel approaches with the surety of a comet strike as the drugs finally claim him in a smothering cloud of inky, black nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is so far off the board, it might as well be it's own story. Like, should I flesh out this idea and make it a proper novel already? Add some stuff about the Ordovician mass extinction, how the climate is shifting to one where (supposedly) extinct species are comfortable and staging a comeback...two scientists fighting to the death over ownership of a mythical beast, and two brothers just trying to survive. Or, I could just let it be a messed up fanfiction? I don't know anymore.
> 
> ...And yes, I am updating months later with no shame. Writing comes when it comes.


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